Hector sighed."Alright Red let him speak at least."She looked almost dejected, like a child that lost a favorite toy. She obeyed however and wiped the knuckles on her armor. Hector squatted down to be closer to the mans level and held the Overseers shoulder."Well...I think you've had enough time to think on it...want to talk to me?"The Overseer nodded and Hector holstered his sidearm in a smooth motion. He pointed at Red, motioning for her to watch the hallway. She nodded and unslung her rifle, throwing Vince a wink and a grin, before sticking her weapon down the way and keeping watch.

"Now Mr. Broody if you please."The Overseer punched in a few things at his desk terminal."Wha-what do you want." He sputtered.Hector grew very serious and rattled off his requirements."First, PA control. Then issue a statement to stand down. After that unlock your inner vault and then I will tell you what's left to do."To his credit, the man complied almost at once, his fingers dancing over the keys and testing a small mike by his right hand."Th-This is the Overseer...all residents please stand down...this will all be over rather soon."He glanced back at Hector. "...right?""Oh yes..." Hector replied. "Very soon...in fact, after you open the Inner Vault we will leave..."The Overseer slumped and tapped a few more keys. Hector checked the vault camera system on the upper corner of the monitor and saw the Inner Vault doors open. The Overseer sat back and looked to be on the verge of tears.

"You're Talon Mercs right? Oh God...you're here for it aren't you?"Hector glanced at the man and said in an almost sincere voice: "Here for what?"The knife Hector had unslung lashed out and the Overseer was no more.

Wiping the blade clean, Hector pressed the 'talk' button."Reactor Team The Vault has been cracked...all teams move to support the Reactor team. Doormen, status?"A crashing crescendo of static answered him for the moment.

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

The man went silent while in shock. Vincent almost winced for the man, he never liked seeing people ended that way. He preferred cleaner, quicker kills. Regardless, now his commander was speaking into the microphone and awaiting a response. He glanced around behind him, through the smoldering pile of corpses that was still there, and saw nothing of note.

He walked through the room and unslung his shotgun once more, just in case. He had this gut feeling that something strange was in the vicinity; something smaller... Hrm.

"Commander, I'm going to take a quick look around," Vincent said over his shoulder.He clicked the shotgun off of its safety and moved towards an open hallway that they had not been down yet. It ventured downwards with an eerie aura about it. He flipped his headpiece to acquire movement and show infrared and ultraviolet overlays on the scenery such that he could sense anything that might be there.

He waited for his commander to acknowledge his warning before proceeding.

"I'll come to Florida one day and make you look like a damn princess." ~Hep

Susan knew she was in trouble.She'd been on the boulder for about three seconds before she realized the mistake she'd made, the problems it presented. She knew she had to act quickly. Otherwise, she would die.

Up until a half hour ago, it had been an ordinary day for her. Scavenging useful parts, ammunition, anything that looked like it might hold value. Avoiding fights with the ever-aggressive Wasteland roamers when possible. Surviving.

But then she'd seen the mercenaries. Recognized their armor right away. Talon Company. Worse scum than the mole rats plaguing the earth, in her eyes. They weren't far off, really. Could have spotted her easily. Not like she'd been trying to hide at the time. But they didn't, because of the cliffs. She'd been above them. Well hidden by the natural cover provided by the crags and rock faces all around her. So they didn't spot her. She was safe, able to simply walk away. She would've forgotten they even existed by the next day.

Instead, she had followed them. Tracked a path alongside them, keeping low, trying hard not to make any noise. A simple misstep could have given her away, gotten her killed. She'd been traversing the Wastes on her own for four years now, though, and she knew how to keep quiet. Knew how to hunt.

She'd been crouching near a precipice, trying to remain hidden, trying to keep them in sight. Caught a glimpse of them walking into a crevice and disappearing out of sight. Wasn't sure how many there were - she had never gotten a good view of the entire group because of the damn rocks - but she figured there were at least ten. She had been mulling over what to do and how to do it when she heard something behind her. Something huge and noisy and hostile. She'd focused too much on the Talon mercenaries nearby. Hadn't payed enough attention to her surroundings. Big mistake.

Two things had happened. At the same time Susan lunged to her left and grasped onto one of the scars in the rock face to avoid falling, the giant Yao Guai behind her lunged forward, clawing the air Susan had recently vacated with a vicious swipe. The hideous creature roared out in frustration, anger pouring through him, fueling him. After navigating along the overhang and coming out on solid ground a few yards east of the precipice, away from the beast, Susan made a mad dash towards a nearby outcrop of rocks. A full-out, careless, terrified sprint for her life.

The monstrosity that followed after her - a mutated descendant of the once noble, handsome black bears native to Washington - was an atrocious, discolored freak. It had short, bristly hair that stuck straight out all along its back and in small tufts running up its legs. Its mouth was gaping open and back in what almost appeared to be a smile. Long, yellowed teeth that looked as though they could tear open a Vault door without much of a problem. Forelegs that were visibly immensely powerful, muscle and sinew visible throughout, ending in claws that were long and cruel and oft used. Its eyes were small and bleach-white, almost demonic in the anger they showed. And it was closing the distance between them in leaps and bounds, powered by a rage so pure and primal and frightening it could only be animal.

But Susan had made it. The distance between them had been too great for the beast to recover in time. She'd jumped onto a boulder, scrambling for higher ground, a place the monster could not get to, a natural sanctuary. She climbed as high as she could and prayed it would be enough. It was. As hard as he tried, he could not reach her, nor could he grapple his way upwards as she had. She knew she was safe from him. Not a problem. But then, three seconds later, after studying the area from her new vantage point, she realized her mistake and the decision she would have to make.

She was too high. Too visible. Too exposed. Might as well have been naked. In her haste, she had forgotten the Talon Company. They would see her. They would keep one or two of their men out as rear guards and those men would spot her, soon enough, and she would be dead. Nothing to it. So she had to act fast. The Yao Guai wasn't really the problem; it would die regardless of what she decided on because otherwise the dumb, feral thing would simply chase her until it caught her. No, the problem was this: Run or fight? That was what it would come down to after the bear was dead. She'd been lucky enough to not have alerted the Talon in her escape; to hope that a gunshot would not draw their attention was simply stupid. It would be heard miles away in every direction. So: Run or fight?

She could not decide. She wanted to fight, desperately so. Wanted to hunt the Talon down and destroy them. But she had not stayed alive in the Wasteland for so long by killing every one of their number she came across. She had to be careful. Make yourself noticed and the Company would come after you. A merciless, resourceful, determined group. If the Talon were out for you, sooner or later, they would kill you, no matter what. On top of that, she wasn't sure how many there really were.

She had caught sight of maybe five of them, earlier. Five of ten, she had thought. Well equipped and walking with a purpose. But then she remembered the nearby Vault and realized they must be headed there. Not much else of interest around these parts, for a group their size. So she figured they had about twenty men in total. Two or three left behind as rear guards while the main force headed in to assault the hapless underground dwelling.

They would meet resistance. They might be stuck in a sort of trench war down there for days, if the Vault was as well equipped as one or two she knew of. But Susan didn't want to rely on that possibility, so she figured the Vault dwellers were only lightly armed. Standard Vault equipment dictated a few dusty, forgotten laser pistols for a few woefully unprepared, under-trained guards. They would be frightened, caught completely off guard and unaware until too late of their impending doom. They would only be able to kill a few of the invaders. Maybe three, with luck. Five at best. So, by her reckoning, Susan would be facing fifteen Talon mercenaries. At best. Probably more. Even with the advantages she would have - higher ground, the element of surprise, the mobility that comes with being alone, and a good view into the entrance of the Vault provided by a nearby bluff in the rocky heights that would put the sun at her back and in the eyes of her enemy, with enough cover around her to be safe - even with all this, and provided the rear guard didn't simply gun her down before she could make any sort of move, her odds for coming out alive would be bad. Almost impossible, she thought. All of this went through her head in about two seconds. That made for five whole seconds of complete exposure atop the boulder. She had to make a decision soon.

So she did. Susan holstered her sawed-off shotgun, which she had instinctively drawn in her flight from the Yao Guai still raging nearby, unable to do any harm. She'd chosen it for the sheer stopping power it provided; the lead balls that sprayed out of the twin barrels once the six-pound trigger was pulled back would turn a human torso into a bloody pulp. Completely obliterate them. Susan hadn't tried it on a Yao Guai yet - she had only dealt with them from afar, before today - but she figured the results would have been similar. Instead, she drew out a pistol. It had a hefty sandalwood grip, sleek and dark and heavy. The pistol itself was jet black and long. It resembled a Desert Eagle, .50 caliber, one of the most exceptional man-killers in the world, except its magazine was loaded from the side. About eighteen inches in length front to back, clearly crafted with much love and skill. Bulky and loud. Unique and deadly.

Levering her pistol at the beast's head, Susan fired two shots in quick succession, ending the Yao Guai's life.

Hector glanced over at Vincent and nodded."Sweep it, check back in five."

The Commander busied himself with the Closed Circuit Cameras, switching between the pictures before focusing on the inner vault. The Talon Company had made it through the reactor level with light casualties. The team had their gear out and were currently securing the prime objective. Hector stood back from the console and keyed the mic once more.

"Door team! Status!"

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

The moment the Overseer made the announcement, Percipe knew it was time. He had secretly assembled his custom Power Fist and was sitting in his large, brown and black-scorched German stormtrooper trench coat on his prison cell's bed. He had oily, ragged, dark brown hair and yellowish, sickly coloured skin. His nails were broken, chipped, but clean. His mouth was bared and open, showing his yellow jagged teeth to the indifferent steel wall in front of him with his back to the locked door of his cell. He waited for the arrogant prison guard that was left inside the Vault's jail to guard the scarce prisoners to come by and do his bullying rounds.. Percipe waited, and then the guard came.. "Hey, maggot, I think the Overseer ordered a stand down because he wanted us to check our pockets in case you took something! Ha!" said the idiot. Percipe almost laughed at the stupidity of the attempted insult, but he wouldn't show it to the buffoon.. The guard lost interest and proceeded down the hall of the prison. As soon as he took two steps, Percipe got off his bed in silence and slinked like a shadow to the cell door and unlocked and opened it as quietly as possible with the key he had stolen from the idiot's pockets last night as he had waved his bum in front of Percipe and his meal.. As soon as Percipe cleared the doorwar, he sprinted all-out at the guard who had his back turned to him. The buffoon turned around in surprise only to have his head knocked clean off by Percipe's perfect uppercut. At the hit, Percipe's Power Fist almost fragmented; the only reason he had it now was because it was custom designed to be taken apart and put back together quickly for easy sneaking. Easy with the secret pockets in Percipe's coat, but it costed the weapon much of its durability. It had to be constantly resecured. Not that it really mattered, since Percipe always struck like lightning, diving out from cover to cover and knocking out the guts of his foes as he did so.. Percipe did his usual loot-check on the guard's corpse and the rest of the jail. There wasn't really anything interesting, but he did find his previously confiscated Chinese 9mm pistol. A favourite weapon of his. Fired fast; it met his hectic open-area fighting style's standards perfectly. He pocketed it before racing up a flight of stairs to the prison's unlocked door and kicking it open.

That was probably a bad idea. The door opened up into a hallway which ended with the open gate of the Common room, bristling with Talon Mercenaries, marked clearly by the white Talon insignias. At least Percipe didn't have his gun out.. The soldiers there raised their guns to shoot, but Percipe screamed "I SURRENDER! Just a thief guy lookin' 'round, unarmed." Perhaps they wouldn't try to kill him.. Still, Percipe was ready to leap back down the stairs into the prison.

"Th-This is the Overseer...all residents please stand down...this will all be over rather soon."

Zeke looked up. He had been calmly listening to his music, waiting for the team to clear out and give him his chance at the honey pot. But that voice...that had been over the PA. Obviously live. He could talk, and people would listen.

He could have his show.

Zeke dug in to his coat, passing the familiar hypodermics of Superjet and Psycho. He could swear, somewhere down here - there. A crumpled up package, unused for decades, but it was there. Mentats. He popped them in and almost immediatly felt a deep pain in his skull. He screamed at first, but it was a brief outburst. It was a good burn - it was a mind, withered by constant addiction, coming back for the first time in a long time.

He looked at Moar with blood-shot eyes. "Whatever room that came from. I need to be there. Now." He didn't want to get in a fight, but the dream of over a century seemed finally within reach. Of course, this would only be heard by vault dwellers at first, but that was a trivial matter now. Zeke had been a great engineer before the war, and as a ghoul he had done many unorthodox projects with the limited tools one could expect at that time. This was a high far beyond any drug. This was hope - something Zeke had almost given up on.

He readied his shotgun and activated the unfortunately dim flashlight attached to his gauntlet to see if anything reacted to the light. He paused for a few moments. Nothing. He deactivated it and pushed into the dark hallway, his helmet ever tracing anything that so much as dripped from the ceiling in its field of view. Nothing seemed to react to his presence or so much as breathe as he wandered further down.

He reached a corridor that split in three directions, two into prison cells of sorts. One of the doors had been violently ripped off its hinges with claw marks all along the ground heading the direction he was walking. The other door was sealed tightly, the locking mechanism still in place. He peered into the room through the thick glass window pane. Nothing moved or set off his sensors.

Strange... he wondered to himself as he held his shotgun tighter in his grasp. He turned back to the open room and examined the claw marks on the door frame. They were gargantuan and in sets of fours, a trademark of a creature that he'd only heard rumors of. There was a crunch in the distance, a grinding of something squishy. Vincent had seen enough, if the thing that had broken off this door was what he thought it was, his shotgun would by no means be enough to prevent his utter evisceration. He couldn't report back, no, that would be too loud. This was one of those times where he thanked the Gods that he didn't have a full suit of power armor, there's no way he would've been able to backtrack out of there. He just kept stepping backwards until --

He whizzed around and nearly pulle-- It was Red. He had made it back to the main room. He saw the reassuringly melted carcasses of the earlier soldiers there. Soldiers he had dealt with, but those? He turned back around before addressing Red.

"Tell the commander that there's something here. Tell him it ripped the door off of a prison cell. Tell him it has four-clawed arms..."Vincent's voice trailed off as he went through the means to seal the door he had just ventured through to explore. The door began creaking closed, but.. Slams of something against metal came ever closer from the dark hallway. This stupid door had to move faster...

"COMMANDER!"Red had already run to give the Commander the news, but it was getting too close too fast.. He backed as far away from the door as possible and readied his shotgun. A single bead of sweat fell from his brow to the floor, and in that fleeting moment, the demon had registered on his visor ten paces from the door..

"I'll come to Florida one day and make you look like a damn princess." ~Hep

Chillz gripped his weapon a bit tighter and his voice dropped the friendly tone."No dice ghoul." He flashed his eyes at Moar who also flexed her trigger finger. "Even if we knew where the overhead room was there is no way we can let you go in there before we bug out. No offense my man, but you'd not want to stick what's left of your nose into business far beyond your comprehension."Moar eyed the ghoul with slitted eyes, slowly slipping her finger inside the trigger guard.

"Commander! Vince has found something!""Something?" Hector inquired looking over."Something big sir. He said it has four-clawe-""COMMANDER!"Hector had his Chinese Assault rifle in his hands, set to rock'n'roll, and the safety off before he had cleared the door. He slid passed Red with expert movement, into the hall and beside Vince with iron sights locked down the way and eyes wide as he spied the claw toed feet tromping just on the other side of a hardly closed door. A hardly closed door with massive buckles in the metal and small rents in the framing.

"Frak me. Grenades under the door now. NOW."Hector knew it wouldn't stop the thing, but if they could scare it off, or even cripple it, their combined firepower might be enough to bring the damn thing down. If they didn't, it wouldn't matter much anyway. Far better to see what is killing you and die trying, than flee and never see what ends your life. Hector unhooked two grenades, tossed one to Vince and pulled the pin on his own. Red snatched one of her own off her belt and did likewise.As one they threw them underhanded and then took partial cover behind the support struts lining the hall.

A grumble from the other side of the door came just before the thunderclap and light.The stress on the door was too much and it fractured outward, falling off its slides and clattering to the floor.There, smoking and snarling, stood a very angry Deathclaw.

"OPEN FIRE!"Hector bore down on the trigger and unleashed a storm of iron.

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

The soot-covered behemoth let lose a roar akin to something that might have come straight from hell in one of those pre-war videos. Bullets streamed from Red and the Commander's assault weapons, deafening him in the madness. Empty and still-steaming shells bounced violently off of the plated floor in troves.

The creature streamed towards them, all but ignoring the bullets penetrating its thick hide. They didn't have the stopping power. Vincent raised his shotgun to shoulder level and clicked it to automatic. He could only hope the drum carried enough..

*BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *CLICK* *CLICK* The creature took the front of the blasts headlong and only began flinching on the fourth and so on shots. It's right arm, the side of its body I was on, was all but shredded by the shrapnel and dangling limply by the 6th round. It stumbled backward about 4 steps, just enough space and time to reload a new drum.

The old drum fell from Vincent's hand and in the time it took to strike the ground with a thud a new one was in its place. The Commander and Red finished reloading too, a new rain of iron about to fall upon the clearly crippled beast.

"I'll come to Florida one day and make you look like a damn princess." ~Hep

"I SURRENDER! Just a thief guy lookin' 'round, unarmed.""Go back to the hole you crawled out of or die." was the reply by one of the Talon members.Two others raised weapons and gave harsh looks, ready to rock and roll at the drop of a hat.

Hector reloaded his AR with precise movements, keeping his eyes on the twitching corpse of the bullet-riddled Deathclaw.Red fiddled with her weapon for a moment, clearing the jam she manufactured with twitching hands. Hector took a few steps forward and prodded the claw of one hand with the toe of his boot. Satisfied that it wasn't going to jump up and slay him, Hector shouldered his Chinese AR and unholstered his .44. Two shots into the head made sure it wasn't going to move ever again."Commander..."Hector looked up at the ceiling, the PA echoing slightly in the hallway."...we have the objective. Moving toward the door. ETA Three and down."Hector nodded and looked at the two soldiers before him."Move out, lets get the hell out of here before anything else pops out of the metalwork."

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

The recoil had pounded her right arm hard. It was jarred and sore, like someone had brought a hammer down against her palm and now the entire thing felt almost slack. The gun she'd used had an incredible recoil, almost as bad an effect as a high-caliber rifle would have from the shoulder down. In many ways, it was a high-caliber rifle.

Susan's trusted pistol, however, had been holstered before she jumped down from her former shelter, dashing between the rocky outcrops for cover. She felt out of breath due to her previous endeavors but was confident she could keep moving. Her body was lithe and well developed, what would have been considered athletic in years past but was merely "Wasteland tough" now. It wasn't just the result of her self-consciousness (What was the point there? Who except all the wrong people would notice?) but that of a hard set of years in a cruel land, one which demanded much. The Wastes had made her strong and capable of enduring much, as it had done to so many more. Still, the sprint for safety had been a demanding feat indeed - Susan hadn't had to work like that in a long time - and it was taking its toll on her now. She could only pray it wouldn't cost her her life in what was to come.

Susan paused, crouching next to a huge boulder. Listened hard. Realized she hadn't heard anything at all from below. There should have been shouts, even gunfire. Shouldn't have taken more than a couple of seconds for the one or two Talon mercenaries she was sure had been left to guard the entrance to come and find her. But they hadn't shown up yet, not that she could tell. She'd been off the rock for well over thirty seconds and was halfway to her destination. Why weren't they doing anything? Susan decided to find out.

After slinging off her pack, unlimbering her rifle and undoing the shoulder holster that held her pistol, laying all of those things flat against a rock, Susan went prone. She crawled along towards a slight precipice slowly, with painstaking precision and smoothness, inch by inch by inch. Her goal was only about five yards out from her current position but it took almost five minutes to get there. Patience was a skill, just like any other, and she was very well versed in it. Had to be careful.

What she saw when she arrived at her destination, hardly daring to bring her head around the cliffs, confused her: three figures stood in the pathway leading up to the Vault door, facing each other. The one that stood alone, in an overcoat and cap, seemed as though he was hunching over. He looked relaxed, almost. Wasn't much more she could tell about him, as he was facing away from her, but the headphones he had on over his cap held her eye for a second longer. The other two, identified as Talon mercenaries by the boldness of the white Talon insignia against the black of the rest of the body armor, seemed tense. She couldn't make out much of their facial features but the set of their bodies - and the fact that they looked as though they were reaching for their guns - told her they were getting ready for a fight.

Going back for her weapons, Susan was almost happy. Maybe she had a chance after all.

Vincent looked at the lifeless form of a demon with almost longing eyes. He thought about what could be ravaged and what could be done with the gorging talons of such a strange creature. The commander was intent on leaving before anything else like this came through the door. Three grenades, a full drum of shotgun shells, and entire clips of rifle ammunition were needed to take the thing down.

He took out his knife and tried to cut through its flesh and take its right hand. The flesh was thick and difficult to rip through, but eventually pulled away at the behest of the serrated edge. Vincent withdrew a large plastic bag from one of his back pockets, generally used for carrying away sensitive, rad-ridden materials and placed the claw inside. He latched the full bag to his belt via a secure mechanism and began heading towards the exit and a very impatient commanding officer.

"We're still on time, Commander.." he spoke hesitantly, well knowing that the vault door would securely lock with or without them there. Vincent's mind wandered to the sorts of things he could learn from studying this demon's wrist shape and bone composition. He was by no means an expert biologist, but he was without a doubt the best hacker and physicist of the whole squad. If anyone could gain anything from this, it would be him.

He leveled his shotgun to his lower torso and began double timing it to the exit.

"I'll come to Florida one day and make you look like a damn princess." ~Hep

Mark Owens brought his hand together on the table and casually pushed in a five piece. "Rescued her from Slavers, Carl. Didn't feel right to just leave her there." Everybody was in. Owens picked up his hand. Pocket sixes, red. "Why? She hasn't been a problem has she?" He raised. The others followed suit.

"No no, nothing like that. Ever since you brought her here, she seems to have taken to the idea of becoming a marshal herself. You aren't looking for a partner are you?" Carl asked, raising his eyebrows. One of the other guys at the table snorted. Owens didn't answer the man, but turned to the dealer, Hank. "Flip."

Owens put his bet forward. "In all seriousness, Owens, you know better than that. Protocol and justice and all that jazz. She could be a spy. Ain't that right, missy?" Carl turned towards Alexis. She was smirking. "I wonder Carl, if your mistrust stems from my having won the last seven rounds?" She says, raising. One of the others, a man named Jack, folds. Carl, Hank, and Mark all meet her bet. Mark nods and Hank burns another card.

Percipe slowly backed down the stairs, careful to keep his arm up above his head and keep himself from falling down the stairs. Luckily, the Talons were a little more merciful than himself, and Percipe was let off the hook. But their luck with mercy was double-edged. Although Percipe would spare them the next time if he can get himself out. Probably not though.. As soon as Percipe reached the floor of the prison, he skipped to the dead guard and stripped himself of his trench coat. Then he unlatched the Vault police armour that was on the guard and secured it to his own body. It took a few moments to find the decapitated guard's head, and when he did, Percipe took off the helmet reminiscent of riot police helmets and wore it on his own head. After he had clothed himself in the guard's armour, he then began to put on his trench coat again, when he had a better idea.. Percipe took back his Chinese pistol and ammo from the pockets of the coat and secured it to the tiny clips on his armour; his pistol was holstered in a leather holster on the chest of the armour. Then he walked to a nearby cell which held a small man dressed in an orange jumpsuit. "Hey maggot," Percipe whispered, to which the man replied with a glare from his corner. The man was small like Percipe himself, who was merely 1.7m tall. "I need you, maggot," said Percipe with a dangerous grin, bearing his signature grin filled with naturally sharp, yellowed teeth.. Percipe unlocked the cell door with the key he had recovered previously. The man inside charged at him, hands outstretched and seeking a throat, but stopped when Percipe pointed his pistol at his head. "Get over there and put on the trench coat, maggot," he hissed. The man followed his instructions warily, carefully buttoning and zipping up the large brown coat.. Percipe unsheathed the rusty combat knife that was strapped to his armour, and came from behind the man, choking him with the sharp edge of his knife, and whispered into the man's ear. "You're coming with me, scum.". Percipe began walking up the stairs once again and before his head reached over the zenith of the staircase, he paused and called out to the Talon men above and inside the common room. "Hey guys, I'm coming up. I just want to take a look around, but I'll just stand around the top of the stairs or something, okay? Just don't shoot.". As he shouted, Percipe silently unholstered his pistol with his free right hand which still had the Power Fist attached; it might help absorb recoil and keep his aim level, reckoned Percipe. He held the pistol behind his back. If the Talon mercenaries decided they wouldn't want him outside, he would open fire. Headshots only.

In minutes, the Talon Mercenaries had stormed back to the main Vault door and filed out in smooth timing.Hector eyed the ghoul with distaste, but didn't rightly care. He had the objective and the majority of his team still intact. The caps from the operation would cover a lot more than the expense and the hard part was over. A few hours forced march and he could call it a couple of months, grab some ice cold nuka-cola and relax as the rest of the world burned.

"Not out yet..." he muttered."Move! Move!" He ushered the men and women past him with exaggerated hand motions then swept between them.Fresh, if not slightly toxic air awaited him after a few more moments and he drank it in.He was almost free...

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.